


Good

by honeydewed



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Again when your pair is rare you write for yourself!, Alfyn/Primrose - Freeform, Because I did, F/M, In which Primrose wants to push away someone good because she is afraid, She gets a little drunk but Alfyn is a caring and loving dude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 15:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15439890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeydewed/pseuds/honeydewed
Summary: Primrose knows how to recognize a bad man but doesn't know what to do upon finding a good one.





	Good

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Octopath Traveler. I don't own these characters. No spoilers beyond I like the chemistry between these two and one comment.

Primrose doesn't hate men. She's learned more about them than she'd like to admit and definitely knows how to spot a bad man. She knows how to recognize the cruelness of them and to not be swept off her feet by pretty words and half-assed promises. She knows how to spot a man with deep pockets and how to move in order to dupe them out of every single leaf they have on their person by just tossing her hair or winking at them. Those men are stupid and weak willed. 

She knows how to see nobility in a man: Primrose can remember the dignified manner her father carried himself even though he could be harsh, she sees it in the firm but gentle grip a father holds the hand of his child, and finally when a man has a good heart. 

Primrose can recognize a bad man right off the bat, or so she says. She knows how to handle herself and keep herself protected from them but she doesn't know how to handle a good man. They exist in the world but she never once thought she'd have one trailing behind her on her mission for revenge. At times his hands roved over her body but in a purely medicinal way to rub in a salve to ease the ache along her ankles from walking, to wrapping a bandage around her arm after she blocked the attack of a monster, or to pick a stray strand of grass out of her hair. The acts were far from gentlemanly, Alfyn Greengrass isn't like the noble boys she grew alongside, but the earnest acts of kindness are more chivalrous than one such as her deserves. 

When Meryl's father permitted it she'd stand behind the bar and pour drinks for the customers in the ale house. It was a rare treat for him and Zeph to be served by a pretty girl like her in their quiet village. She smiled demurely from behind the bar and the two would do their best to garner her attention over the other. If she didn't know them so well or grow up alongside them she might have been charmed too but well once a girl saw a fellow and his best mate awkwardly walk around the village with a face full of pimples and stutter at women there was no way she could ever see those blokes as smooth. Zeph was sweet on somebody else anyhow and there wasn't much time to focus on girls when they were studying. 

Primrose pours drinks without being asked or asking anybody. As a girl who worked in a tavern she became accustomed to serving customers and does the same for him. Dainty hands fill tankards up as she offers a bewildering smile. Pretty bracelets cling to her wrists and jingle in a musical way as she perches prettily beside him. She's more intoxicating than the ale. When his cup's empty she sails through the throng of people with ease and all eyes drift to her. Some men practically shove leaves at her for little more than a beckoning glance or flounce of her dark hair. Those warm gazes all turn to ice when she returns to ole Alfyn's side!

Shucks, he's never been the envy of anybody before but just being in a close proximity to the lovely Miss Primrose is enough to make another guy want to slit his throat. Maybe being so close to her is bad for his health, he laughs into his tankard and listens to her laugh too. He hasn't seen her partake in any alcohol at all. She sips from time to time on some fresh water and runs her hand through her hair where it's tied up. After resting she says, "I think I'll make us some more leaves." Primrose moves with a certainty dignity about her. It isn't a sultry and provocative dance as he expected her to dance. Where her foot lands and the way she moves her arms reminds him of a well seasoned fencer. A passionate fire burns bright inside Primrose and the vengeance she seeks acts like a plume of smoke. Her hips shimmy and shoulders roll like the lazy currents of the river. 

He heard rumors from a few travelers of a girl in Sunshade who danced like a goddess, he just never thought he'd see such a girl. 

Alfyn's face burns as Primrose finishes off with a graceful bow. She graciously accepts leaves and occasionally her hand brushes against a man's chin as she says, "You're too kind." After visiting the bar and not paying for her drink she returns to his side. Sitting close to the wall as she rolls her ankles she hums thoughtfully. "This should cover our bill at the inn," Primrose muses over her newly pocketed leaves.

"Primrose," he finally finds the sense to speak. "You've been paying for our bills at the inns we've gone to." The realization hits harder than it should. Alfyn hardly had any leaves to his name when he left Clearbrook and she'd been looking after him since the two of them left. Embarrassment burns more than the pleasant buzz from the ale. 

A dark chuckle from his companion surfaces. Primrose's dark eyes hide behind her heavy eyelashes and she hums thoughtfully, "Perhaps I have. Forgive me, Alfyn." She purrs out his name. Oh godsdamn, he could listen to her say that for an eternity. "I just assumed that you didn't have much in a way of leaves so I took on the finances, every place we've gone to so far you've not charged your customers," if she were anybody else it might have been a complaint but she hardly sounds annoyed. 

"Shucks," he feels his face burn further. Is that how it feels to be in the desert? "Prim-" 

Primrose readjusts herself in her chair. Resting her heel atop his lap she bows her head towards him, "You may repay me by rubbing my ankles or applying that salve of yours when we're back at the inn. I don't want to take my shoes off here." Withdrawing her foot she rests her elbow against the table in a decidedly unladylike way and rests her cheek against her hand. "Do we have a deal?"

Alfyn sits tall trying to register what just transpired. "Deal!" His lap burns from her leg being there. "Deal," he says again. "But I can't let you pay for everything." Cowed by his shortsightedness he rubs the back of his neck, "I ain't one to be in debt to another but it isn't fair to you."

"Fair is for festivals, skin, and faces," Primrose counters. "Surely by now you've learned that nothing is fair haven't you?" Melancholy coats the inquiry and Alfyn decides he doesn't like that look on her face. 

Alfyn takes a quick swig of ale before setting his tankard down. "Now, that's no way to talk. It's true life isn't fair but that doesn't mean we can't try to make it better, right?" He pats a flattened hand against his chest. "Next time I fix somebody up I'll ask for a little something. Just so I can repay you for being so hospitable to me, I ain't going to let a lady take care of me." She thinks about saying something to this, that she doesn't have to take care of him if he detests it so. "It's awful sorry when a capable man won't take care of others. I've been so busy focusing on helping other folks I forgot about helping you even after you went out of your way to help me and Zeph and Nina." He lifts his ale to her, "I'll find a way to pay you back." 

Primrose knows he won't ask anybody for a cent but the earnestness in his tone and way he promises to do something for her benefit brings a smile to the dancer's face. Primrose doesn't say anything for a long time and instead steadily nurses her drink. "You're too kind," she means it this time. In her previous line of business she offered honeyed words and praises when they shouldn't have been said but she means it now. 

Alfyn studies her. He watches as her throat moves when she drinks and the way the dim light of the bar still catches along her necklace and other pieces of gold that she decorates herself with. Sometimes, when she smiles the beauty mark on her face shifts and the rouge he believed to be on her lips is actually her face's natural color. She's beautiful, not because of how she dresses or dances, there's a genuine beauty from her. He never saw anybody so gorgeous before. 

Primrose is sent drink after drink from "kind" strangers at the bar. She winks in their direction and takes a glass but after receiving it offers a thumbs down and a blithe grin. 

People trickle out of the bar until it empties out like most of the patron's drink's. A few stragglers press their faces against the bar whining to the bartender about either a lost love, lost job, or feeling lost in general. The slick barman nods and cleans the bar with a cloth occasionally offering a death glance to the remaining patrons. Primrose doesn't drink often, when she drinks she loses her inhibitions and can't guard herself as well, when she drinks too much she can't help but weep. She hasn't cried yet but is sure that come sunup she'll have cried a sea of tears. Glassy eyed she looks at Alfyn who's sobered up for the most part. He stopped drinking after Primrose danced and kept an eye on a few customers that looked like they wanted to approach her. She can take care of herself and he wasn't a white knight protecting a lady fair but his ma always taught him to look out for girls. After three glasses of wine it looks like she might cry. 

He didn't think a dancing girl would have such a weak constitution but when one served drinks rather than drank them herself he supposed that she could be a lightweight. Alfyn holds his hand out for her to take, "C'mon Primrose. We should leave." Alfyn looks blurry from un-fallen tears and she reaches out to him. A dancer should always be steady on her feet and she worries that she might fall but Alfyn's there, she knows she won't. "The bar's closing up," he helps her to her feet. His fingers are warm and they release her. 

Shrugging off his green vest he casts it over her shoulders. Her ponytail's caught beneath the fabric and bubbles out from the neckline, it's too big for her and the shoulders hang loosely off her own. "It gets kinda cold here at night, can't have you catch cold," he picks up his satchel and slings it over his shoulder. "C'mon," Alfyn offers Primrose his arm. She takes hold of his arm and presses against him so she can keep steady. 

It'd been a long time since she blushed in the presence of a man or because of him. Primrose blinked as the dim light of the bar died when the door closed behind them. Alfyn rolled his shoulder closest to her, the shoulder that bore the weight of his satchel and he grinned down at her happily, "May I escort you back ma'am? I got a feeling you're heading where I am." Alfyn began to walk and primrose walked beside him in the quiet night along the path towards the inn. She hadn't felt so safe in the presence of a man at night for even longer. 

Crickets fill the air when conversation couldn't. "You know," Alfyn begins and gathers her attention with the words. "I think I like the night because no one can see if you're crying." He makes sure to keep a slow pace for her and does his best to not sound too rueful. "After my ma died, I would only visit her grave at night." So no one could see, so he could be upbeat for everyone, but still have a good cry. Everyone needed a good cry now and again. 

"Is, is that so?" she flounders for something more profound to say than that. Primrose's plump lips form a fine line and she finds no other words to say to that.

"Everyone needs a good cry every now and again," he looks away from her. "That's just my opinion as an apothecary," he scratches his cheek awkwardly. Primrose smells wonderful, he can smell the wine on her lips and whatever it is she uses to smell so good. She smells like roses, Alfyn hopes his vest doesn't smell like ointment, blood, or any of his elixirs. "And well, and as a friend."

Primrose's eyes must be as red as the fabric of her top and skirt. She squeezes them shut and stands still in the darkness. "Why?" she asks as she feels the tears threaten to spill. 

He doesn't look at her, allowing her to feel some privacy in the dark. "Because we're human, Prim," he explains. "We're born crying in this world and we keep crying. I think if you need to cry, if you want to, it's alright. Ole Alfyn's here and," he can feel her shuddering like a lost child. "It's alright." Primrose chokes and holds her face in her hands as she presses against him. She feels so soft, and Alfyn wonders how he can destroy something that could make someone like Primrose cry. 

They paid for their rooms before venturing to the inn. Alfyn's boots feel heavy as he guides her up the stairs to her room. Primrose's bangs cover up her face and she continues to cling to his arm. She dutifully unlocks the door to her room and he's prepared to disengage with her, let her cry and stare at the ceiling until he hears her speak. "Alfyn," she pulls the front of his vest close as she stares up at him. Golly, he thinks to himself, her eyes are stunning. "Thank you."

Those simple words make his face hot, his heart thumps in his chest, and his tongue feels dried up. "I uh," he stammers. 

Primrose wipes her eyes. She's either cried on the way to the inn and kept more or less quiet about it or no longer feels the need to do so. 

"Won't you come in? I believe you need to uphold your end of the promise," she bats her eyes up at him. Primrose's eyelashes are wet, she looks so vulnerable and a primal need to defend her arises. 

Alfyn's mouth shuts and he nods. Primrose strides in first. In an agonizingly slow manner she removes her sandals as she sits on her bed and rolls her ankles thoughtfully. "Pray, this way," Primrose looks up from the bed. Alfyn closes the door behind him and kneels down before her. Her feet are so small, he's surprised she's as strong as she is. Fumbling through his satchel for the proper salve he listens to her bracelets clink against each other and she removes her jewelry and sets them on the nightstand. 

He hasn't seen her without the necklace before. Without it, he sees how delicate her neck is. She really does look vulnerable, uncorking the cap to the bottle of Primrose's favorite salve he dutifully lifts her foot and holds the heel as he works the salve into her slender ankles. She coos and smiles down at him. "Pray, Alfyn," she takes her hair down. His vest is hidden beneath a veil of chocolate locks. "My neck hurts as well, would you be kind enough to investigate it?" 

Alfyn finishes up with her feet and stands. "Sure, let me take a lo-"

She clings to the front of his shirt pulling him forward. Lips press against his and she feels the stubble against his face. Her lips are needy and his are only too eager to oblige. He boxes her in with his arms and feels her thin fingers tug at his ponytail and paw at his shirt. 

Her lips are as hot as the desert sands and he feels hungry kissing her. His tongue rubs against her lips and he feels hers coyly touch his own. 

"You've been watching me all night, haven't you?" she draws away from him before returning her mouth to his lips then his chin and finally the tip of his nose. She pushes him back and she moves further along the bed lying down. Her hair outlines her body and she lets his vest fall open. The scant fabric between her legs almost shows off what it's hiding and he's surprised he has the willpower to stay upright and standing. "You want this, do you not?"

He stares at her wordless and suddenly feeling shy. His pants are tight and he wants to have her keep the vest on as he...

Alfyn stops and notices the flush along her face, her lips are swollen from the force used to crash against his, and he sees it finally her eyes are wet. "You've been waiting all night for this, haven't you?" Alfyn's jaw tightens and his lips close. "Or since we met, right?" She's so alluring. He'd be a fool to not take this opportunity. Primrose is the loveliest person he's ever seen in his pitiful life. Her eyes burn like wildfire, her skin's fair and soft, every inch of her's soft truly, and her dark hair twists and curls as she dances. A pitiful look crosses her face and she leans up resting along her elbows as she watches him. "What are you doing?" she asks. Primrose feels a tear trail down her cheek, "I know. I know what men want and I know..."

Primrose feels her body shift as Alfyn sits on the edge of her bed. "I'd be an idiot to say no," he opens up his sack again to look for a handkerchief. Fishing one out he holds it to her and she takes it graciously. "But I guess my ma really did raise a fool." He can't do this. Not when Primrose was crying. Not when she'd been drinking. 

Primrose wipes her eyes and sits up. her legs dangle off the side of the bed and he finally makes a move. Wrapping one arm around her shoulders and pulling her close to him. Alfyn falls on his side and clings to her for dear life, hugging her. She hasn't been held like this in a long time. Primrose closes her eyes and wets the front of his shirt but he rubs his hand in her hair. Alfyn tells her about his mother, he talks about Zeph and Nina, he describes the river, and he finally tells her about how beautiful she is when she dances. After a long while she lets go of him and only then he moves away. 

Alfyn pulls up a chair by her nightstand and sits beside her bed. "I'll stay here 'til you go to sleep," he promises. 

He reaches out and tentatively she holds his hand.

Silence blossoms between the two for a long while. She finally gathers enough courage to sleep, "I apologize I..."

"Don't worry about it," Alfyn reassures her. "Sometimes wine can be our friend. Sometimes it isn't. You don't have to worry about it." Primrose tightens her grip around his hand. 

Her other hand clings to the handkerchief he gave her and she closes her dark eyes. "I don't drink," it's dangerous for a dancing girl to drink. Constantly surrounded by alcohol and often wanting to forget it's a bad combination. She can't handle kindness when she drinks, it makes her too sad. She misses her father, she misses her innocence, and she misses being able to cry open and freely. "I am sorry," she clings to him. "I'm sorry." She's sorry to her father, to herself, and to Yusufa. 

Alfyn reaches out and the butt of his palm presses atop her head before his fingers curl around her hair. "It's alright," he reassures her. 

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asks feeling tired. They'd been traveling all day, she danced, and she cried. 

Alfyn smiles down at her. "I saw somebody in pain," he can't say he knows what he's going through but he can be there for her if she needs him. "And I wanted to help them out."

Primrose greets him with a warm gaze, "You're a good man Alfyn."

"Heh," he rubs the back of his neck. "I hope so." That hand moves to cup hers like she's a precious jewel. "I'm trying to be." 

Which is more than Primrose can say about most men. 

After a few hours Alfyn rouses himself his joints feel sore and his back aches from sitting up all night. He winces and rolls his neck and shoulders prepared to stand up but Primrose tethered him to herself. Still holding onto his hand Alfyn squeezed her hand before removing it. Stretching his arms above him he misses the warmth of Primrose's palm and tucks her hair back out of her sleeping face. "You know," he whispers and kisses her forehead. "You're a good woman," he pulls the blanket up from the corner and wraps it around her best he can. "Sweet dreams, Prim," he whispers and returns to his room.

When his back hits the bed he pictures a girl with fire in her eyes dancing just for him before he closes his eyes and hopes he can kiss her again when she's sober.


End file.
